 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
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V.
“Beg from a beggar—Deark d'on dearka.”—Irish Proverb.
There is a thought so purely blest,
That to its use I oft repair,
When evil breaks my spirit's rest,
And pleasure is but varied care;
A thought to gild the stormiest skies,
To deck with flowers the bleakest moor,—
A thought whose home is paradise,—
The charities of Poor to Poor.
That to its use I oft repair,
When evil breaks my spirit's rest,
And pleasure is but varied care;
A thought to gild the stormiest skies,
To deck with flowers the bleakest moor,—
A thought whose home is paradise,—
The charities of Poor to Poor.
It were not for the Rich to blame,
If they, whom Fortune seems to scorn,
Should vent their ill-content and shame
On others less or more forlorn;
But, that the veriest needs of life
Should be dispensed with freer hand,
Than all their stores and treasures rife,—
Is not for them to understand.
If they, whom Fortune seems to scorn,
Should vent their ill-content and shame
On others less or more forlorn;
But, that the veriest needs of life
Should be dispensed with freer hand,
Than all their stores and treasures rife,—
Is not for them to understand.
To give the stranger's children bread,
Of your precarious board the spoil—
To watch your helpless neighbour's bed,
And, sleepless, meet the morrow's toil;—
The gifts, not proffered once alone,
The daily sacrifice of years,—
And, when all else to give is gone,
The precious gifts of love and tears!
Of your precarious board the spoil—
To watch your helpless neighbour's bed,
And, sleepless, meet the morrow's toil;—
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The daily sacrifice of years,—
And, when all else to give is gone,
The precious gifts of love and tears!
What record of triumphant deed,
What virtue pompously unfurled,
Can thus refute the gloomy creed
That parts from God our living world?
O Misanthrope! deny who would—
O Moralists! deny who can—
Seeds of almost impossible good,
Deep in the deepest life of Man.
What virtue pompously unfurled,
Can thus refute the gloomy creed
That parts from God our living world?
O Misanthrope! deny who would—
O Moralists! deny who can—
Seeds of almost impossible good,
Deep in the deepest life of Man.
Therefore, lament not, honest soul!
That Providence holds back from thee
The means thou might'st so well control—
Those luxuries of charity.
Manhood is nobler, as thou art;
And, should some chance thy coffers fill,
How art thou sure to keep thine heart,
To hold unchanged thy loving will?
That Providence holds back from thee
The means thou might'st so well control—
Those luxuries of charity.
Manhood is nobler, as thou art;
And, should some chance thy coffers fill,
How art thou sure to keep thine heart,
To hold unchanged thy loving will?
Wealth, like all other power, is blind,
And bears a poison in its core,
To taint the best, if feeble, mind,
And madden that debased before.
It is the battle, not the prize,
That fills the hero's breast with joy;
And industry the bliss supplies,
Which mere possession might destroy.
And bears a poison in its core,
To taint the best, if feeble, mind,
And madden that debased before.
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That fills the hero's breast with joy;
And industry the bliss supplies,
Which mere possession might destroy.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |